forbarrayar_ooc | test drive meme

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tsarcasm:
Barrayar ⚔ Cetaganda ⚔ The Invasion

Have you read the FAQ?

The Village ⚔ The Barrayaran Camp ⚔ The Cetagandan Base ⚔ The Fight

You've been on Barrayar for a while now, and you're finally starting to adjust. Or maybe you're not. Maybe this is all still too much for you – the attacks, the constant raids, living in the middle of a war zone by no choice of your own. But if you want to live long enough to make it back home one day, you might as well do what you can to help the war effort. Besides, where else are you going to go?

The fierce Barrayaran winter rages even to the southern end of the continent, and it's been none too kind to Vorkosigan's District. Temperatures at sea level are well below freezing, and up in the mountains, it's even colder. Several inches of snow already blanket most of the mountains all the way down to the Cetagandan base, and the storm that's just started up is only bringing more down. Visibility is low in the flurries, wind swirling snow everywhere, and God help you if you get lost on your own out in the storm. Nights are cold, these days.

A recent attack on the Cetagandan base has left half their facilities damaged and in disarray. Raid parties snuck in by night, planting bombs in previously scouted locations for maximum effect. Damage to the base's water treatment plant and organic grow labs have considerably impacted the Cetagandans' food and water supply, and in the chaos caused by the explosions, the Barrayaran guerrillas raided their medbay and made off with a considerable bounty of medical supplies. One man's bane is another man's boon, and while the Cetagandans have reserve supplies to sustain them for now, some of the damage is extensive and the repairs will take time. But in the meantime, the Barrayarans have scored a precious victory as well as equally precious resources.

the village
The Riverfall villagers are used to the harsh winters of the Dendarii mountains, and though they don't have much themselves, they are happy to offer what they can in terms of cold-weather clothing and extra blankets to those allied with the guerrillas. Despite the cold, the hill children are going wild in the snow, and they may try to lure you into their play by sneakily pelting you with snowballs.

Cetagandan allies, however, may not be met so warmly, and at the first sight of ghem soldiers, any children out playing in the snow will be immediately ushered into their homes. Unaccompanied outsiders from the Cetagandan base might have an easier time talking to the hillfolk, but any attempt at digging information about the guerrillas out of them will get you stonewalled fast. A sneaky hill child or two may steal away from their home to approach one of the "bad guy" outsiders to sate their curiosity.

the barrayaran camp
Morale is higher than it has been in a while after their recent victory, and the guerrillas are in high spirits. And do they ever love their spirits – as night falls, most of the Barrayarans gathered around the campfires are enjoying the deceptively named, dangerously alcoholic moonshine they call maple mead. It might start out sweet, but it burns all the way down, and a few glasses of that stuff will tank even the heaviest Barrayaran soldier.

But the storm rages on despite their celebration, and preparations must be made. Clearing as much snow off the tents as possible will help ensure that no tents collapse overnight, the horses need to be tended to, and the officers are always running training drills. Food is in real supply now, but the guerrillas need help foraging and hunting nonetheless. And when night falls, you'll have to find a way to keep yourself warm – it's a good thing there are a cozy ten of you to a tent.

the cetagandan base
The Cetagandans outnumber their guerrilla enemies almost seventy-to-one, so their base has not been completely devastated, but it hardly looks to be the work of a few raiding parties. Nothing is beyond repair, but the water treatment plant has been taken offline, which means that all water is now locally sourced and must be treated by hand with purification tablets. No one in the base will starve, but fresh food is mostly unavailable until they get the grow labs back online, which means that meals are mostly comprised of ration bars and MREs. Morale isn't exactly at an all-time low, but none of the ghem officers seem to be in a good mood.

They won't hesitate to put you to work, either. They need all the engineers and laborers they can get for the grow labs and the treatment plant, and the medbay's inventory needs to be thoroughly audited before they can send a request for more supplies. But if you need a break, it's not too hard to slip away for a little quiet downtime. Some of the lower-ranked ghem ladies might let you participate in some more artistic activities, or maybe some of the enlisted soldiers who are a little more used to you by now might invite you into one of their Cetagandan games of strategy. Or, since the treatment plant only affected potable water, you could appreciate your comfortable surroundings and take a nice hot soak in the bathroom while everyone else is working.

the fight
PVP
You're in the midst of a skirmish with the other side -- maybe you signed up for the battle, maybe you just got caught up in the fight -- but at least it's easy to tell who's on what side. Only one side is wielding swords, and the other guns.

But then you come across someone who doesn't look like they're either -- not one of the rugged Barrayarans or the face-painted Cetagandans, but an outsider, an exotic like you. They must be. So do you fight?

RECON
Maybe you're not on the front lines, but there's plenty more to winning the war than just fighting. You're partnered with another outsider on recon; the ground is cold, and you try not to let your shoes crunch too loudly on snow as you scout, scanning for patrols or supply lines.

Or maybe you're with the Cetagandans, hiking it thorugh the mountains with one of your fellow exotics in an attempt to locate the enemy camp. Except it's damned cold, and there's hidden ice everywhere, and everything is starting to really look the same.

--

Feel free to write prompts for your character on either side -- you don't have to choose just one for the TDM! Just label it clearly so folks know. GO WILD, MY FRIENDS

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm grateful they offer us something, but -"

There's a frown on her face and she looks uncomfortable with mocking what they're given as far as food goes. But if he doesn't like it, then she's not about to force it on him. Especially when she prefers something fresh and made by herself.

"Whatever we catch will be better."

It's both her promising that breakfast won't be from the mess hall and she doesn't mind being out all day hunting. It sounds a hell of a lot better than drills or having to take care of chores.

Daryl nods in agreement, heading back for camp. "If I'm gonna eat camp food, might as well cook it myself."

Moving through the brush, he considers that he should know more about his new hunting partner. "What'd you hunt for your family back home?"

"Whatever was around. Rabbits, raccoons, birds, deer sometimes. The Militia took most everything, so I had to wait and see what was left. It was dangerous slipping out past the commune walls so I always just took what I could get in as least time as possible." She walks at his side, pulling the arrow out of the squirrel so she can clean it off and put it back with all the others.

The squirrel is held by its tail and dangled down a little, and she lets it stay there as they amble along.

"What kinda terrain?" He doesn't assume she's from Georgia, that's for sure. She's got an American accent, but beyond that, all bets are off. They're in goddamn outer space.

"We lived in Wisconsin for most of my life. But the past year or so, I've been across the Republic. Down into Georgia, then down to Texas and Mexico." She shrugs, trying to place his accent.

"What about you? You're from the south."

"From Georgia." He hadn't expected an American, for all her accent was, well, American. It seemed too unlikely that he'd meet another American in space. "What year was it?"

"2028." She realizes something then, and stops walking to look over at him with a hint of excitement. It's never dawned on her to ask this question to people who sound like they might be from the same place as she is. "Are you from before the blackout?"

Daryl quirks a brow. "That what they're calling it?"

It'd make sense that they call it something different. There's no goddamn consensus on what walkers are called, everything else oughta be up for grabs too.

"I'm not sure what else they'd call it when all the power, machines, and any kind of technology go out worldwide." But maybe down in his part of Georgia they call it something else.

"What do you call it?"

The power, machines, and technology went out when there was no one left to tend it. It's possible, of course, that the dead were dealt with and the real problem became building the world back up. Daryl doesn't know. He's only half sure he cares.

Honestly, it sounds like she's thinking of something different. There are only so many ways to say 'the dead rose'.

"Everybody calls it something different," he says with a shrug. "Most just say 'before'."

She's starting to think he either doesn't know what she's talking about, or he's full of shit. In either case, she's all too happy to shrug and move on. The less she has to think about home, the less she has to remember what she's left behind.

"So 'before'," she starts to ask, using air quotes, "What were you?"

Daryl just kind of blankly stares at her. Why do people always ask this? Why do they keep asking it? It's not like the answer is interesting, satisfying, or remotely important.

"Guess."

She stares back at him, unimpressed with his answer. Does she look like she's a fan of guessing games? "I was five when it happened. I don't remember most of what there was to do. What exists now is limited."

She remembers some professions though, so she stares blankly right back through him and manages a very deadpan, "So you were a farmer, right?" It's what everyone in Georgia did, obviously.

Daryl considers that. He's not exactly sure the math adds up, from her age to the time she says it happened, but he's no scholar either. What really catches his attention is her answer-- it scares something like laughter scares up out of his throat. The idea of a Dixon owning land is a goddamn joke.

"Yeah, farmer. Sure." He keeps walking.

His reaction amuses her enough to pull out a laugh as she walks along after him. "I don't really give a shit what you did. All I care about is that you have experience hunting in this kind of terrain."

If she's going to learn something from him and they're going to work together to go after larger animals, then she needs to have some kind of trust in him. And that trust starts with finding out something about him that makes her see him as fitting in her "one of us" mentality.

"I got experience hunting in this kinda terrain," he says, dry as anything. There's nothing she needs to know but that, and she'll only really see it through direct example. He keeps walking toward camp. "That good enough for you?"

"For now." She can judge a man a hell of a lot better seeing him in action rather than asking him things and trying to tell if he's lying. "Do you like coffee?" That question is harmless enough, she figures.

Daryl nods. "I'll drink it." 'Like' seems like too strong a word. "Dunno if I'd call what they got 'coffee', though."

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